


The Thane of Cawdor

by Perhaps7PercentStronger



Category: Doctor Who, Macbeth - Shakespeare
Genre: Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-12-05
Updated: 2013-12-30
Packaged: 2018-01-03 12:42:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1070578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Perhaps7PercentStronger/pseuds/Perhaps7PercentStronger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ten and Martha return to Elizabethan England and their good friend, William Shakespeare, after the Doctor notices a strange note in the lines of Macbeth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction: The Shakespeare Code

 

_"If thou couldst, Doctor, cast_   
_The water of my land, find her disease,_   
_And purge it to a sound and pristine health."_

**Macbeth, Act V Scene III**

 

Suddenly, the Doctor threw the book. It landed with a painful thud on the other side of the TARDIS as he leapt from where he'd been reclining to read, nearly toppling himself.

"Brilliant! Oh, he's brilliant! My God--Martha! Come here! Martha, we're going back."

Martha peeked out from one of the doors, head cocked to the side. "Doctor?" she asked carefully. She knew his antics, but she thought that all he had been doing was reading a book. Could such a thing cause him so much excitement? With a sigh, she stepped into full view.

"Yes! Yes, Martha Jones, we're going back!"

She raised an eyebrow. "Back? Back where?"

"To--to Shakespeare!"

Martha laughed. "Doctor, we were there only a couple weeks ago. Why do you need to go back?"

"No, no, not to the same time as before--more like 1606. Eight years later."

"What's so urgent that we have to go?" Martha asked, realizing she was probably being more than a bit nosy but not particularly caring. This was odd behavior, even for the Doctor, and she was curious. She wasn't going to object, of course--she adored Shakespeare and was more than happy to see him again.

"This!" exclaimed the Doctor, grabbing the book from where he'd thrown it and opening with no hesitation to the page he wanted. "This--this is brilliant. It's a call for help, Martha, from the most intelligent writer in history!"

Martha frowned and took the book from him. She read the lines he pointed to, and with a curious expression opened her mouth to speak. But she never got the chance, because he grabbed the book back and stared in amazement at its pages, saying rapidly, "This is the work of a genius, Martha, a  _genius_! And oh! He doesn't even have to--it's brilliant, Martha, really. We have to go." Again, he dropped the poor book.

Before she could have her say, he was at the helm of the TARDIS and exclaiming, "Allons-y!"

She picked the book back up and stared at it. When Martha had been in school, she didn't even understand Shakespeare. But now the words stuck out to her as though they'd been thrice underlined. It was certainly a call for help from the Doctor. Once more, they were going to visit Shakespeare, and once more the master would have his Dark Lady back. What a case of deja vu this would be.

 


	2. Something Wicked This Way Comes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor and Martha set out to find Shakespeare in Stratford-on-Avon.

Martha shrieked with something akin to joy as she threw open the TARDIS door and stepped out into the English countryside. This was a lovely place, Stratford-on-Avon. The last time they had come to see Shakespeare had taken them to London, but this time it was different. He had quit his life in the city and now resided at his own country house in the city where he was born. 

"Oy, Martha! Over there!" said the Doctor, pointing to a small village.

Martha grinned. "Do you know which house is his?"

With no reply, the Doctor set off toward the cluster of buildings just over the river. There was a bridge that crossed it at its most narrow point and it was there that they travelled, something almost worrying growing on the Doctor's face the closer they got to the houses.  _Well,_ thought Martha,  _it was a distress call_. And to think--they were going to save Shakespeare. She began to wonder if the playwright would remember her, but quickly dismissed the thought as silly. He had already written her sonnets (she being his "Dark Lady") and they would be published three years from the day she was in now.

"There," he said, pointing to a cozy two-story house surrounded by about a half-acre on each side. 

Martha frowned. 

"Thought it would've been bigger," she said and the Doctor laughed. 

"With him? Nah. Comfortable place big enough to write in, so I would say it's perfect. It's pretty big for the time, really."

His endless knowledge of things that most people would never think of learning didn't cease to amaze Martha. He was brilliant, absolutely brilliant. She smiled as she followed him toward the house, crossing the bridge that led into the town with haste.

"Doctor," began Martha, "d'you know what he could've meant by that? By his message?"

"Something needs healing, Martha, and I'm a doctor. It's not my job to imply something without asking the patient."

"Just... how did you know? Put in the middle of a play and all?"

"Didn't you see? The play's physician was referred to as Doctor, as a proper name. Genius! Absolutely brilliant, Matha! Five, three. Y'know when we last met him?"

She just stared.

"Five-three! March the fifth!" he said excitedly, as was almost everything he said.

Martha took a second to think it over and shook her head. "I don't know how you do it, Doctor," she laughed.

"Sometimes neither do I," he grinned and began to walk even faster. Martha kept up with his hurried gait and they were soon nearing the front door of Shakespeare's house--she still couldn't quite believe that they were here and her heart began to beat a little quicker. Shakespeare had been so nice to her, such a good guy, and she was very excited to meet him again.

Finally they had reached the door and the Doctor rapped lightly. It wasn't quite nightfall yet but the sky was taking on its final hour of light. For a minute, Martha and the Doctor stood there in suspense, until a lock on the other side of the door began to rattle. 

"Who is it?" came a voice from within.

"Someone called for a Doctor," said the Doctor. 

The rattling intensified as hasty fingers struggled to undo the lock. It must have been him. Martha shivered. After a long moment, the door opened and there stood the man himself.

"Shakespeare!" said Martha, almost squealing in delight, and she hugged him even as he looked a bit tired and unexpecting of the embrace.

"Hello, again, my dear. Doctor," he nodded and the Doctor followed him inside. "Have a seat. I've been at work all day, but I'll put on a kettle for you." He did not leave room for dispute between his words and his going into another room, probably where the nearest fireplace was. Martha and the Doctor exchanged looks as the sound of footsteps echoed on the floor above.

"Little Shakespeares," said the Doctor with a grin.

"So what d'you think he needed help with? Looks pretty safe and comfortable."

"Not sure yet," answered the Doctor as Shakespeare entered the room once more. "It was a lovely play, Will," he said. "I just don't understand why you didn't write it in one of Martha's sonnets instead."

"Now that would be a bit out of place, I think," answered William. "But yes. Should have been a marvelous production if I may allow myself to say such, but 'tis still on paper."

"Creepy, too," interjected Martha.

"Do you truly think so?"

"A bit, yeah. With the witches and stuff."

William laughed. "The tea will be ready soon. I'm glad you saw the message, Doctor. I knew you would."

"What's wrong, then?" asked the Doctor, propping his feet up on an empty chair.

"Well..." began William Shakespeare, his face slowly fading to that of a man in despair, "You see, ever since I wrote it, Macbeth has haunted me. Not... Well, not as though the theme or the plot bothers me. It is truly haunting me. I see the witches in my slumber; I hear the call of Macduff in my waking moments. I've seen the dagger myself and washed blood unseen to others from my hands. It drives me mad, Doctor, absolutely mad! It was but an old legend is all, and now it has plagued me."

The Doctor frowned. "Does Anne know about this?"

"I tried to tell her. She doesn't have much to do with me anymore... Not since... Not since Hamnet."

Martha bowed her head. That was his son, the one that had died ten years ago. Ever since, he had worked on dark comedies and darker tragedies. "Does it always do this?" she asked.

"Only on Sundays, on the Holy Day," answered William. "I need help, Doctor."


	3. Double Bubble, Toil and Trouble

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Doctor investigates Shakespeare's odd plight.

"Just Sundays?" asked the Doctor, leaning in. He had that look of morbid curiosity all over his face, and Martha laughed silently.

"Yes."

"This sounds... ridiculous," said Martha. "Like... you know, when people say 'Only on Tuesdays' or something."

The Doctor didn't seem to understand this, and neither did the Bard.

"So what happens? Visions? Nightmares?"

"No, Doctor--they're real. They surround me, tell me of my impending death--hold daggers before my eyes and stain their hands with blood. They are my own characters, I know it!"

The Doctor frowned in thought.

"Could they..." but he trailed off.

"What?" asked Martha.

The Doctor looked around. "So... these characters... they're only in your mind? You haven't staged this yet?"

"I can't. I fear what it will do."

"I would say witches again, but..."

"But no one has died?" answered Martha.

"Not just that. This isn't the doing of 'witches' like before. This sounds like..." He trailed off again, sounding like he was trying to work things out. "So, Will, you are the  _only one_ to read it so far?"

"Aye."

"So you're the only one who would know about the details you made up--the embellishments, I mean. That means whoever--whatever--did this, they had access to your thoughts and your writing. Couldn't be your family, they're not aliens..."

"So what then? Ghosts?" asked Shakespeare, looking almost fearful.

"Not ghosts, no... No! Perfect! Brilliant!" exclaimed the Doctor, jumping up and retrieving the sonic screwdriver from inside his trenchcoat. "Martha, go get me some fire. Will--what day is it?"

"Saturday, Doctor."

"Ah, good, very good. Right on time," said the Doctor as he buzzed about. "Torches. I'll need a couple torches. We're staying here tonight until we get rid of what is tormenting you."

"What is it?" asked Shakespeare, almost desperately.

The Doctor turned to say, "Autons!"

Just then, Martha reentered the room, carrying some firewood from the fireplace. She looked confused. "What? What are... autons?" The Doctor gave her a half-smile in response, looking more mischievous than normal and telling the Bard to start a fire in the kitchen. Shakespeare did as he was asked and Martha shot the Doctor a sideways look. "What  _are_ you talking about? Isn't this... dangerous?"

"Of course it is," he said. "They're trying to attack the world, and since they couldn't beat me with mannequins, they're going back in time to kill whoever goes to see this play."

"I don't understand," she said, and from the other room Shakespeare yelled his agreement.

"Ah, you don't know! The autons--they're insane. Want to get rid of Earth. And if they got a hand on the actors, they could copy each one and attack everyone that attends the Globe Theatre. They've started with the creator, because there is no better place to get a foundation for a humanoid copy. Will, you know the characters better than anyone else--that's why they want you. If they have your memories and thoughts, they have all the lines they need and the mental images of each character. It's brilliant, but it ends now. You cannot stage this play until they're gone."

"Wasn't planning on it," said Shakespeare, returning to the room.

"Good."

"So how do we get rid of them?"

"Easy. Wait until tonight, when they come back--because they are real, they're not visions--and torch them."

"Torch them?" repeated Martha.

"Exactly," smiled the Doctor, turning back to the playwright. "Got any tea?"

"Of course."

"So we're just waiting it out?" Martha asked.

"It's just a few hours."

"As you please, Doctor."


End file.
